


Sea Of Orange

by illousional



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3382349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illousional/pseuds/illousional
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>larry prison AU where louisandharry meet in prison after facing a long and hard life of feeling unwanted and unloved. Although he is being delusional to the fact he has committed a serious crime, louis can't seem to fight the fondness he feels for a certain inmate. <br/>or an AU where louis won't tell anyone his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Entry one,_   
_This shitty diary thing is an awful idea. I’ve been here for 2 months, I’m still being kept behind closed bars, and they want me to write how I feel about it? Shit. Fucking shit. ‘Mind your language, Tomlinson. You’re not at home any more.’ They tell me that every day. Every single fucking day I’m locked up in this hell hole. There’s people in here who have killed tens, abused people to their death, shop lifted the biggest brands and names. I bet they didn’t have a reason. I bet their nightmares don’t haunt them at night. But mine do. Righting down how fucked up this society is isn’t going to change what I did; it will only remind me every single day._   
_Tomlinson._

  
“Boss, these cells are going to be full soon.” My assigned guard walked into the group of cells I was allocated too. The cells are similar in genre – meaning our surroundings around us are pretty much the same. We all killed someone and we all don’t regret it.  
“Then invest in more, do I look like I care, Payne? These are criminals. Double them up if you may; just make sure they don’t fuck. We don’t want reproduced criminals in these walls.” The boss was a tall one, slightly fat; but he had a large, incredibly large build. He had bulky muscles which shown veins through his short sleeved t shirt. His baggy pants tussled at the bottom, has he reached the eye of each criminal in the cells. “Who’s this one, Payne?”

  
I was still on my cell bed. Do I even call this a bed? It’s more like a shelf. A while pillow without a case, with a thin quilt draped over the top. I expect they get thicker as the days get colder. I hope that’s the case, I already fall asleep and wake up with goose bumps. “Tomlinson.” I gave him a small nod, my head already stiff from being placed against the brick wall. I was about 5 metres from the Boss, yet his stare was enough to make me gulp. I didn’t act on it though.

  
“I don’t like your attitude, Tomlinson, I expect you to address me with your first and full name; do you hear me?” He was squared up and towards the bars now, his finger pointing through. A small smile reached my lips at his attempt to threaten me. What more trouble can I get into? Longer sentence in prison? It wouldn’t matter – there’s nothing on the outside for me to look forward too except the freedom of not living under anyone’s rules.

  
“If you don’t like my attitude Boss, I suggest you walk on. I’m Tomlinson, sir; there’s no need for you to know my full name if I’ve been here for 2 months and you haven’t noticed. What a shitty service you ru-”  
“Listen here you piece of shit, this prison is where people like you come to be rehabilitated, not to be rude to the staff and become even more hated by the public. Being on that side of the bars means you have no power here; Tomlinson. The power is in my hands.” He rattled the bars to my cell, and stood, addressing my guard Liam Payne to follow him the rest of the way down the cells. It’s only them I noticed the guy alongside Liam, handcuffed and head down. His tall lank figure made him look around 25 – however his childish curly hair said otherwise. I scoffed and sat back down as another cell opened, and slammed shut – echoing throughout the group of cells.

  
“Listen to me, I didn’t do it!” “I- I wouldn’t hurt anyone!” “Please, let me go!”  
His sobs could be heard through all of the cells, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. I still couldn’t tell who the new criminal was – all I knew is that he still hadn’t come to terms with himself. There were people laughing, and smirking, terrorising the newbie for his awful cries of release.  
However, his cries of release soon quietened as our guard returned from his meeting. Within this whole hell hole, I think Liam comes off as a pretty genuine guy. He’s not rude – he doesn’t insult you; I guess if you don’t follow orders things get nasty, though.

  
“I told you, I swear I did nothing!”  
“Harry, don’t be a struggle.”

  
Harry. A tall man with curly hair who cries, and goes by the name Harry. I must admit, a small chuckle left my lips this time, as each cell was opened one by one – and each criminal was taken down for their evening meal.  
I guess this part of the day wasn’t so bad. The food wasn’t great, and I don’t actually have any company; but I’m able to see what the other cell mates are like and maybe find out their story. Liam came to my cell, with that cute smile – he opened the bars.

  
“Still not giving them your first name?”  
“I prefer Tomlinson anyway.”


	2. Chapter 2

The room was buzzing as the inmates chatted between themselves - and a few of the low key criminals received visits from their family members, but I didn't. I just had to watch the criminals. I decided I enjoyed to search for the comparisons and differences in each cell mate. I wasn't privileged enough to have family who still love me unconditionally after what I did. It was weird studying people, and comparing what they looked like on the outside to what they were really like on the inside.

For example - Zayn Malik; imprisonment for supposed sexual assault of his ex girlfriend. At first glance, I guess his vibe is sort of like a bad boy, if you like. His hair was shaven on one side, and long on the other, and somehow it managed to suit him pretty well. He always pulls it back when we’re doing community service - however either way he can pull it off. He’s quite a small boy to say he has a rather large ego, however the spots of skin you could see were covered with tattoos. You have your bog standard sleeve, however he went all out and had a neck tattoo as well. A mixture of reds, oranges, yellows and greens mixed together to form a spiralling design around the back of his neck, meeting at his well-defined cheek bones. The awfully trashy orange jumpsuits we’re all forced to wear actually suit him, the sleeves were rolled up and clung to his biceps. The funny thing is about Zayn - he’s been here for 5 months, that’s longer than me, yet he’s still in the denial stage.  
There’s been countless occasions people have addressed him out to be an assaulter, or a rapist - however he continuously denies it. He may seem like the type of boy who gets into tons of trouble and the type of boy our parents warned us about - but truly he is a genuine, nice boy. I’ve never heard him curse, or throw around his shading words - in fact I’ve never really heard him talk a lot. But we’re mostly boys here, and we do have quite a few laughs. He may be a quiet boy, but he sure as hell has got some cracking jokes.

“What are you staring at Malik for? Could have guessed you were a queer with the way you look.” And then there were the losers. The homophobic arseholes. However I wasn’t up for a prison fight. I wasn’t really up for any fights. I just wanted to sit and embrace not being told what to do.

“You know, you shouldn’t put up with that..”

But, yet again, I was being told what to do. I turned around to look at the person who’d defended me, to meet again with the curly haired boy from earlier. The same boy who cried release, and wouldn’t come to terms with himself. I smirked lightly at his wittiness, and his sudden confidence boost. I bet he’s just glad he chose to talk to me, instead of other criminals in this room who would gladly and proudly start a fight with anyone who approached them - especially someone as soft and weak as this Harry guy. Was that his name? I chuckled lightly, and looked him dead into the eye. Other than Zayn - he gave off a completely innocent vibe. He looked the kind of boy your parents invited for tea and talked to like their only son - or the boy who’s lunch money gets stolen on a daily basis. He definitely did not look like someone who belonged in a prison cell - but what can I say, this society is full of surprises.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” My voice was gravely, probably since I haven’t spoken since my encounter with the security guards. I coughed lightly, keeping up the act to the boy stood in front of me. I call him boy - because there is no way this curly hair, dimple-smiled boy can be classed as a man on any level. Regardless of the rude way I spoke to him, he still had a smile playing on his lips - which was ridiculous. I’ve not seen anyone smile in here since Zayn was allowed to seeing his family after 4 months.  
He didn’t seem to take the hint though. I don’t think he understands that in this prison - there isn’t friendships. No one is nice to each other, people are just civil. People can call me a ‘queer’, whereas I can call people homophobic arseholes and a fight is started then and there, but I choose not to, because unlike most people - I’d love to keep my face in an acceptable state for if I ever do get out of this hell hole.

“- And you looked really lonely, I thought I’d join you- Are you listening to me?” He’d moved even closer now, a lot closer actually. Another thing that you should probably know about me - since being assigned to this awful prison; I’ve hated the whole concept of human contact. I think it was from the rough way I was handcuffs. With a shiver from the memory, I traced my finger over my wrist gently where the scar was still present. “Well you’re clearly not listening to me. I said what is your name? I’m Harry-”

“Why would you need to know my name?” That pushed my limits. My name belonged to me, not him. Why should he care for my name? “A name is a fucking name - it’s stupid anyway. You call me Tomlinson, alright? In fact, don’t call me anything. I don’t need you to call me anything.” He was testing my patience. And the last time someone tried to test my patience, it got me life imprisonment. “I don’t need you.” My hands were shaking now. I was at a high. It’s been 2 months. 2 months, since someone has properly tried to interact with me.

The fear in his eyes as he cowered away was what struck me. The humongous orange jumpsuit swallowed him almost - the stock must be running out. He’d stepped further away now. A whole arms length - and the rush of anger and adrenaline once pumping and rushing around the blood had drowned, leaving me with the horrid sting, the horrid pain laying on my chest.  
“This place isn’t for you, i don’t know what you did, or why you did it - but you need to stop talking to people like you know them, okay? Because you don’t. You don’t know anyone any more. No one knows any one. That’s just how the world works - you wouldn’t know, you’re just a kid.” That’s when my voice cracked, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I shook my head, picking up the almost empty bottle of water and standing from the uncomfortable chairs they use as furniture in the canteen. I was almost certain half of the inmates were watching my little outburst, and probably laughing and insulting me to each of their “crews”.

As I walked away, I could still hear a quiet mumble from the boy who started all this mess in the first place.  
“I don’t belong here.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Entry two,_

_This still seem pointless, but I guess it’s a way to pass time. It doesn’t look like anyone else uses them, but I guess it’s a nice way to get your feelings out. Most of the people in here don’t even have feelings; the only thing they feel is the coldness in the cells - because they didn’t have a reason for their crime. The only person that doesn’t is that new inmate Har_

“Tomlinson - you know the rules, your community service is at 6am tomorrow, it’s past midnight. What are you still doing up?” Liam was at the bars of my cell, a sleepy expression on his face. I didn’t say anything; Liam was the only one I won’t argue with. He’s the only one who doesn’t argue with me. He really fits in working here, and even if he doesn’t, it genuinely feels like he cares about us all.

 

“I’m not sleepy.” My voice was hoarse. I haven’t spoken much since the evening meal, a few of the immature guards gave me a few hits and slaps for kicking off; but no one really asked what triggered me.  _That curly haired boy who triggered me_.

“Look, I’m going to be brutally honest with you because lets be real - no one likes being cramped in this shitty prison, m’right?” I didn’t say anything, just looked at him in disbelief. How could he say that about his own job? “But the pays good; and so are some of the criminals. That includes you. You may not be a struggle for me - but you’re a hell of a struggle for everyone else.”

I chuckled at that, because yes, I was a struggle. But that’s because _I don’t belong in here._  “Do you wanna talk about what happened back there today?”

 

My excuses sound’s pretty dumb, now I think about it. I smirked lightly - not my signature smirk I use to get my way; the pitiful smirk I use when I know I’ve been pretty pathetic. “He asked what my name was.”

 

\-----

 

“Community service is pretty shocking, huh?” His voice was the complete opposite of what he looked like. Zayn’s accent wasn’t broad, or thick - it was smooth and gentle. I looked up from scrubbing the graffiti off the wall some inconsiderate teenagers had left behind to the voice who spoke to me.

 

“Yeah I guess, apparently we deserve it though?” I shrugged my shoulders, and my eyes were squinted from the light of the sun above us all at midday, while my sweaty hair stuck to my forehead. It really wasn’t an attractive look.

“I thought prison was enough.” Zayn grinned, picking off the dead skin that scrubbing the walls had created, and wincing at the blood blisters beginning to palm of his hand. The blisters murdered, they expected you to just suck it up, but man it was hard to work with a swollen hand. “You up for sneaking off for a quick smoke? Liam’s working today, he won’t grass.” Zayn glanced around quickly, offering a cigarette to me. One of my goals in here was originally to quit smoking, but who was I to pass up the opportunity to make friends?

 

“Sure.” I smilled, taking the unlit cigarette in my hands, my fingertips already tingling at the familiar feel of a cigarette. Zayn pulled the lighter from his pocket - God knows how he managed to sneak that in - and lit both of the cigarettes.

 

One drag. Thats all it took - and I was in pure heaven. The feeling felt to foreign, the way it made my head feel almost weightless. It calmed my body close to 0, leaving a dazed smile on my face. “Shit, mate, how did you hide these from me for so long?”

 

“Can’t have everyone having a cheeky puff can we?” Zayn grinned, blowing out smoke afterwards. I decided that Zayn wasn’t so bad; and was actually quite alike. I didn’t reply, instead I indulged in the sweet escape of the cigarette.

“You know, that can really effect your lungs. I know a few people who’ve been hurt my smoking, it isn’t good for you.” I could have guessed. With a thousand voices clear in my head, I could have picked that one out easily.

 

“What have I told you about telling me what to do?” My tone wasn’t as harsh as yesterday, but Harry still caught on the fact I wasn’t buddy-buddy with him. “Don’t do it.” I mumbled, taking a few more puffs of the cigarette, and then put it out with my foot. Zayn had gone back to community service now, leaving me and Harry.

“I know, I know.” He was quiet for a while after that. I leaned my head against the brick wall, and closed my eyes. I almost thought he was gone, until I opened an eye, and his dimpled grin was staring back at me. “I’m sorry about yesterday. If you don’t want to tell me your name, how about I guess?” Harry grinned, and I chuckled. To say this boy looked around 20, he surely didn’t act like it.

 

“You won’t guess, but knock yourself out kiddo.”

“George?”

“What do you take me for?”

“Luke?”

“No.”

“Cameron.”

“Nope.”

“...James?”

“Wrong again.”

 

“I give up.” He sighed, and then looked at me again. My eyes were open now, causing me too realise just how close we were, making me take a few steps back.

“After four guesses? You’re no where near. My name is French.” I grinned lightly, seeing the confused look on his face. His mouth was in a straight line, and his eyebrows knitted together. Kind of looked like a puppy.

 

“You don’t sound French?” Did this boy pass his exams? He reminded me of my sisters- Ouch. I reminded myself,  _don’t think of them Louis. They don’t care about you any more. They don’t want you. They don’t love you._

“Well that’s because I’m not.”

 

“Tomlinson, Styles, back to work! You’re not out hear to chat all day; move it!” I pushed myself off the wall with my left foot, sending an awkward nod to Harry - who was smiling bashfully to himself - and walked back to the pail of water I was using to scrub the graffiti off the wall.

_They don’t care about you any more. They don’t want you. They don’t love you._


End file.
